Having a prophet’s eye makes living difficult. In these Gods. These being who walk through Time and Memories. Who speak in the ether of all that is holy and beauty. I find it hard to tell whose more God than the other. And I have fallen for them all. For the ones who have wrath … More Whispers


I have spent a lifetime praising you. You know your own title well. You know the taste of admiration well. You know that you have been God since forever. And I have come to know now, in the few moments left to write that you have been a piece of God. Not in Her entirety, … More Create


I call you goddess not out of title but out of your demeanor. There are mythologies to love. To admiration. To being a muse. And you have fulfilled prophecies. Born out of cataclysm, those eyes. Your eyes. Depths like the Universe. I write of you, like Nostradamus. Visions like Delphi, how much of your knowledge is … More Posterity


Reverence is the way you breathe. Stature as if you made the gods. Magnificent and righteous. Cornerstone of love. In you is a passion for the destructive. For the creation. For the balance of all that is existence. But, what are you?

Just Venting

Guilt has a strange aftertaste. You can’t swallow regret. You can’t hold anger down like liquor. I’m guilty of never knowing my self to be true to you, and I regret every moment I lost myself to mania. And the anger? It’s from perspective. It’s all perspective. That’s what the wise say. And in reality, … More Just Venting


You are infinity, in your glances and stride. In your blushes and speech. Yes, you are everything. Encapsulated to perfection. How can I not love you? I know stories passed down since the First to roam the Earth, you have been grand since the beginning. How can I not love you when you feel like … More Feel


I have loved you in broken ways. In exchanges and actions too warped in delusions of grandeur, I didn’t know reality until years after we broke apart. I have hoped for love to return. For the winds to blow in our direction and the Gods to favor us once more. But hopes never became our … More Hell


Broken souls don’t make good parts for scavengers. And even self-inflicted wounds stress over time. Why didn’t they make me hollow, the crafters, the builders, the folk titled my parents? They had their own weights, too heavy not to pass down through the generations. Guilt is a hand-me-down. I was born with stress too old … More Hand-me-down


Reflections have never been without depth, but does light flow through you. I’ve been staring for years now. My feet planted, I haven’t blinked. Don’t want to miss a moment. I want to know everything about you. And I’ve been standing here. In front of you. For years. Decades. Is there anything in you? Weightless. … More Self